


Chase me beyond the rainbow's end

by eldritcher



Series: The Song of Sunset Third Age [15]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Eldarion is confused about his heritage and the expectations he has of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase me beyond the rainbow's end

“Eat slowly,” my mother chided me. “The food shall not run away.”

“But the rainbow will!” I exclaimed, my mouth full of superbly done steak. 

My mother was a beautiful woman. When she raised her eyebrows like she did now, she was a dangerous woman. I sighed and obeyed, chewing my food at a slower rate. 

“Very well,” she smiled. “Go and chase the rainbow then. I shall have food sent to your chambers later.”

“Oh! Thank you, ever so much!” I grinned happily and leapt over the table, uncaring of my mother’s startled gasp and the servants’ cries of astonishment. I knew I would be in trouble later. But it did not matter now. 

The palace gardens were in full bloom, for it was the height of spring. I wondered if Ithilien outstripped this splendour. Even in the cold winter, the gardens of Ithilien were magnificent to look upon. 

“Where are you running to?” 

My father’s stern, loving voice broke into my thoughts as I passed him on the crowded royal street. He was surrounded by a dozen simpering courtiers and his noble mien reflected his frustration at the situation. He was a man who loved the wild. I did not think that a life within the castle was exactly to his taste. But he was a man who lived for duty and I loved him all the more for that. 

“I am chasing the rainbow!” I waved my hand at the aura of colours that cascaded their glory on the clear, spring sky. 

My father laughed, his mirth free and honest. I grinned back at him. He made a grimace as one of the courtiers pressed closer and sought his attention on some boring matter of the administration. Then he looked up at me with a wink and waved me off, as if to say that I should enjoy my freedom while I could. I did not wait. Off I went, haring through the large streets and the thriving marketplaces. My path took me to the less crowded outskirts of my father’s city, where there was yet grass on the ground and birds in the trees. 

Taking off my shoes, I ran over the meadows drenched by the mild spring rain. A gentle breeze played coyly with my garments and I laughed out aloud. The splendour of nature had always brought out my Eldarin heritage and this time was no exception. I removed my tunic and swung it over my shoulder, delighting in the fresh scent of the wet earth born upon the wind. 

I looked up at the rainbow, it ran away across the skies to the corner of the woods that skirted the city. I was old enough to know that rainbows could not be chased. But something about the beautiful spring day made me reckless and I ran down the meadows to the woods, my eyes fixed on the hues of the rainbow. 

My pursuit took me to a shallow stream that fringed the city. I ran headlong into it, squealing in delight as the cold water tickled my bare feet.

“Eldarion!” A well-known, dearly loved voice exclaimed. 

I looked across to see him like I had never seen him before. He was unclad, but for the breeches that clung to his thighs. Bowed in half, as he rinsed his face in the cool water, his sinews strained against his skin that glistened in the golden sunlight. The sight of his handsome face, as he looked up at me with fond amusement gracing his features, made my stomach clench abruptly. 

“Faramir,” I croaked, wondering where my tongue had disappeared off to. 

“Why are you scampering through the woods like a lunatic?” he asked, straightening and presenting me with the sight of a well-formed chest with not an ounce of superfluous flesh to disgrace it. Sculpted collarbones that would have not looked amiss on a statue in the royal gardens, I noticed for the very first time in my life.

“Eldarion?” he asked again, crossing the stream to meet me midway. 

“I was chasing the rainbow,” I said in a hushed voice. 

His eyes widened and lit up in devilish merriment as he strove not to laugh at my answer. I chuckled and averted my gaze from the sumptuous figure he made to the calming sight of the rainbow. 

“Have you found your pot of gold yet?” he asked me good-humouredly.

With the sunlight casting flattering shades of gold on his magnificent torso, I was tempted to say that I had, indeed, found a pot of something very precious at the end of my rainbow. But I was a prince and he was a well-meaning friend. So I simply smiled and shook my head.

“You must think me very foolish,” I sighed. 

“Not particularly.” 

He gave a vigorous shake of his head, splattering me with the water from his wet mop of hair. I noticed that his mane was a rich shade of brown when drenched. The same shade as was the hair that lightly matted his chest. I was not able to keep my eyes off that. Nor could I help thinking that Eowyn was certainly blessed. But the thought that took hold of my thoughts the most was that I did not look half the man he was. My chest hair was scarce and my shoulders were not broad enough to merit the admiring glances of the ladies at court.

“When I was younger, I would often chase rainbows.” He looped his hand through mine and dragged me ashore companionably. There, awaiting him, was a pile of clothes. Whistling softly to himself, he selected a towel and began drying himself.

“You ran after rainbows?” I asked, curious about his childhood as I always was. 

Father did not talk about his youth. Mother rarely spoke of anything that touched upon her past. Faramir’s tales of his childhood exploits with his elder brother were my only source of inspiration in mischief. He would withhold nothing, taking simple pleasure in regaling me with the sordid stories of his youth. He was still young, in the prime of his life. The interactions between us resembled those between brothers than those between an elder and a student.

“Hmm, yes,” he plopped down onto the green carpet nature had spread over the earth. I followed suit and lay down, locking my arms to form a nest for my head. 

“I thought you were wise,” I sniggered.

“My brother told me that there was a very beautiful maid at the end of the rainbow. I was flush on the verge of manhood. I could not resist believing his tall tale.” Faramir groaned in self-pity and threw a well-formed arm to cover his eyes. 

“That was rich!” I laughed and rolled over to my elbows, looking down upon his languid, easy figure adorning the grass. “Did you find the virgin treasure?”

“Yes,” he huffed. “Waiting at the end of the rainbow, in a small shepherd’s hut, was the ugliest crone I ever had the misfortune to see. I am sure that she was a virgin.”

“But being a gentleman, you did not rob her of her maidenhead,” I grinned and delighted in the rumble of laughter that broke from him on hearing my words. 

“Precisely,” he said. “I did make sure that I brought her into my brother’s bedchamber during the night. He did not recover at all, I fear.”

I was young and very, very curious about sex as a subject. It was not something I could ask my parents. I had few friends. So I jumped at the chance of asking Faramir all about it. I was sure that he would not mind. 

“Why? Wasn’t he pleased with her?” I pestered.

“Not particularly.” It was his turn to snigger, as reminiscence took over his mind. “He had company for the night, you see. I remember that he threatened to take me to the whipping post. Only my pleading eyes and heartfelt apologies saved my hide.”

“He had company!” I pulled away the hand obscuring Faramir’s features. He blinked at the sudden seep of sunlight and frowned in displeasure at me. I did not care and pressed him, “Was she beautiful?”

“He was quite handsome, I recall,” Faramir gave an indolent, little, supercilious yawn and stared pointedly at me. “Very handsome and well-endowed.”

The last word made me blush despite myself. I knew I was not well-endowed, as he put it. It was my deepest cause for grief.

“I was asking about the woman in his chamber, not about your brother.” I felt compelled to cover my unhappiness with curiosity. 

He raised his eyebrows and raked his eyes over me, subjecting me to as deep a scrutiny as I had ever known. Then he said quietly, “My brother preferred male company.”

I blinked at him, perfectly tongue-tied. I knew that such people existed. But Boromir of Gondor was my idol, my idea of how a man should be. That he had preferred male company unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

“It is more common than you think,” Faramir said kindly. “Particularly, among warriors.”

“Is it?” I asked, feeling extremely dull and shaken. 

Boromir had preferred male company. Then did that mean Faramir had indulged in the same thing before marriage? I knew that Elrohir tended towards these inclinations. My father would often remark sadly that he might make a good father if only he could fall in love with a woman. 

“You needn’t worry yourself about such things, Eldarion,” Faramir rose to a sitting position and basked in the warm sun, throwing his head back satiated. “I am sure that a beautiful maid awaits you at the end of your rainbow. Flowers in her hair and bells on her feet? Aragorn was enamoured by your mother when he saw her by a stream in Rivendell, or so it is said. You will find someone like that.”

“I cannot imagine my mother having bells on her feet!” I laughed at the incongruity of the picture he painted.

He chuckled and said blithely, “Then perhaps with rosy lips and dimpled cheeks, if your tastes and imagination like that better.”

“How did you imagine your maiden to be?” I asked him curiously. “Was Eowyn the kind of person you wanted to marry?”

“I hadn’t known that women like her existed before I met her.” Faramir said with his usual brand of honesty. “I wanted a woman like my mother; someone wise, soft-spoken and kind.” 

“Then how did you fall in love with Eowyn?” I asked him, perturbed. 

“I am no longer attracted to women,” he said gravely, his eyes shining in earnestness. “A sojourn in Rohan left my preferences shaken and upturned.”

“I know this is going to be good!” I said. “Tell me, tell me! Who was it? Not Eomer? Or Theodred?”

“Pervert,” he rolled his eyes. “It was an elf.”

“Elf?” I stared at him in disbelief. 

He nodded and shifted to a dreamy contemplation of the swaying tree branches. 

“Why an elf?”

“Why not?” he asked me amusedly. 

“No, it is all right. But aren’t they hairless and less manly?” I blurted out. 

An incredulous stare met my confused eyes before he burst out in laughter; laughter so unrestrained that he scared off birds that had been chirping away merrily in the trees around us. Before I could ask him anything, though, his eyes returned to their natural gravity and his mien sobered. He placed a palm on my shoulder, the warmth of his flesh seeping in through the thin material of my undertunic. 

“You are a very handsome young man,” he said slowly, with such conviction ringing in his clear tones that I almost believed him. 

“My father looks different. You look different. Everybody who is accounted handsome in this land looks different,” I said in a rush, words tumbling out uneasily as I gave voice to my deepest insecurity.

“Hair does not make a man,” he said, with a disdainful quirk of his lips.

“Then what does?” I asked him, desperately wanting to know. “It is the women who lack hair. Men of Gondor and Rohan set great store by this, you know it.”

“My brother used to believe so,” he said. “I believed him once. But now I know better. Do you think that Elladan or Elrohir or any of the elves whom you know lack in courage when compared to the Men?”

I shook my head. 

“Then where does the question of hair come?” he smiled. “It is all in here, Eldarion,” he took my hand and placed it over my heart. “Hair is superfluous on a battlefield where manhood is tested and proved.”

His fingers were warm and firm as they rested over mine, above my heart. I leant in closer and placed my spare hand over his heart, saying quietly, “I like hair, though.”

Something in my voice must have alarmed him, for he pulled back and tried to laugh it off, casting about for a suitable jest that would ease the sudden weight in the air between us. His eyes met mine and he stilled, his lips parting to form an unvoiced word.

“What is it?” I asked, quietly, very quietly, for I did not want to let the world hear this conversation.

“You are shaking like a leaf,” he whispered. “Are you cold?”

“No,” I rasped, my eyes on the funnel of hair that descended from his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. A sudden heat flared within me, carrying itself along my nerves and pooling down into the core of my manhood. I gulped. I had experienced it many a time when gawking at those young maids in the gardens. But never before for a man, and certainly not for a man I respected and admired. I wish I had learnt to control this thing; to stop the change it was wreaking on me. 

“I am sorry,” I said hastily, trying to get to my feet clumsily. “I shall be going now.”

“Eldarion.”

“Please don’t tell my father. I didn’t intend this,” I implored him. 

My father was not a cruel man, nor was he a man devoid of understanding. But he would pity me, I feared. He would be upset that I had imbibed the culture of the Eldar, to become allured by male flesh. And worst of all, that I behaved so before his friend would make him unspeakably sad. I turned to leave, wishing that I had half the enthusiasm to run away as I had earlier when running hither.

“Eldarion!” he called after me. I did not stop. 

The desperate ache continued, a blight upon my character. I cursed myself and vowed to get myself cured somehow. This was not right. This was not fitting for a prince of Gondor. 

I had been so uncaring of where I was running to that I did not notice the root peeping its head out of soil. I cursed profoundly when I tripped and fell flat on my face. As if to complete my humiliation, a strong, warm palm clenched my shoulder and forced me to turn around. I gritted my teeth bravely and met the brown gaze.

“Are you hurt?” he was all brisk concern as he dragged me up to my feet and looked me over. 

His perfectly innocent appraisal of my body stoked that dark ache in me, and try as I might, I could not hide the evidence from him. 

I was as near tears as I had been ever since growing out of my childhood. This added to my general misery and I turned away, blinking back the hot wetness that lingered about my eyes. My throat was having difficulty in forming words, seeming constricted and agony-ridden.

“Eldarion.” He turned me to face him. I did not look up into his eyes. I knew what I would see there; pity and kindness. He was always kind to me.

“You are young, and it is simply a natural reaction.” 

He pulled me to him and embraced me, despite my flailing limbs that sought to escape. He had held me thus countless number of times. I remembered the warmth of his embrace when I had been inconsolable after the death of my stallion. Somehow the memory soothed me and I sighed and clutched my arms about his neck, burying my face in the hair on his chest, wanting never to meet his gaze again. 

His hands stroked me reassuringly over the stiff plane of my back. I was only aware of the broad shoulders enveloping me, and that made me feel all the more odd and badly endowed. I was of age and I was still snivelling in the arms of my father’s friend. 

“I cried in Gandalf’s arms when he brought to me the tidings of my brother’s death. I was merely a ghost in those days. I had none to turn to in my grief. And when Gandalf arrived, I could no longer hold it all in.” 

I clenched him all the more tighter, feeling the pain resonating in his words. He had suffered so in those days, bearing the brunt of his brother’s death, his father’s madness and a failing country’s expectations. 

“I thought that I was not worthy to be Boromir’s brother; that I was not worthy to be of the line of Stewards,” he continued, in a voice that still held memories of deep anguish and self-doubt. “Without Gandalf’s commonsense, I would not have made it through.”

“You are the bravest person I have known,” I said quite sincerely. “Merry told me that you defended Osgilliath when all hope was lost.”

“And you are a very handsome, brave, splendid young man.” He squeezed my shoulders gently. “I will not have you thinking otherwise of yourself, is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” I managed a weak laugh, thoroughly unsettled by his words of praise. He mussed my hair thoroughly and held me at an arm’s distance, his brown eyes looking me over. 

“You will do,” he said with such complete confidence that I believed him entirely.

Something about his features lit by the slanting rays of sunlight that dappled through the leafy canopy above made me aware of that disobedient part again. Tactfully, I pulled back from him, only to have his hands brushing my neck as I did so. A shudder escaped me and I resigned myself to apologizing again. He leant in, probably wishing to cut off my sentence, but all that the gesture achieved was making me aware of the hot breath caressing my face. I inhaled sharply and closed my eyes. 

“Kiss me,” I whispered and immediately regretted it. I drew back in fear and panted heavily, as if I had run a very long distance. I was the prince of Gondor. That I wanted to kiss a man was inconceivable.

Some strange emotion flared in his brown eyes. But he did not speak, as always the embodiment of chivalry. It was his steadfastness and compassion that undid my fears and doubts. I drew nearer and hastily pressed my lips to his unyielding ones, trembling as I did so.

“Eldarion,” he said kindly. “You are fine. Now, let us go back to the castle before Aragorn sends a search party out after his scion.”

He was reminding me of what I was; the prince and heir of Aragorn. Such foolishness as I had enacted right now was not acceptable. But my mother’s blood was in me; I lacked not for stubbornness at the most inopportune moments.

“Kiss me,” I said softly, trying to prevent the quaver in my voice.

He sighed and complied, his lips ghosting over mine before retreating. He was merely indulging me, I knew. Torn between so many emotions, I dragged him to me. Of course, he was stronger. But being unprepared for this burst of passion from my side, he was at a disadvantage. When I clutched at him like a dying man begging for life, his arms came about me and held me to his chest, and his fingers soothed me with easy, familiar strokes. 

Reckless and frightened, all I did was bucking against him. Each grind of my pelvis against him earned a sharp shot of something dark and dangerous through my blood. I feared it, and I craved it. 

“Easy,” he used the tone he might have employed to soothe a horse. I would have been offended, if only I had been less dazed by these events.

When his fingers came questing to the waistband of my breeches and undid the laces, a gasp escaped me and I clung to him, all thoughts of balance and reason leaving my crazed mind. His hand was firm and kind as he stroked my manhood, while his other hand remained in place on my back, anchoring me against him. 

It happened; and at the end of it, I felt hollow and exhausted as I always did. Blackness wiped off my vision and I staggered blindly against the warmth of him. He hushed me and held me close, dragging us both to the ground. Long it took for my respiration to return to normalcy and all through the ordeal, he remained where he was, silent and yet present with his solid, warm, reassuring embrace.

I did not know how to face him after this. He spared me by pressing a kiss to the corner of my lips and saying, “Shall we return now?”

“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I know it was wrong, I am so sorry.”

“I told you that you remain one of the most handsome, desirable men I have seen,” he said quietly. “I understand that you need time to think. Whatever choice you make, I shall always remain your friend, Eldarion.”

I am afraid that it was one of the most cowardly days of my life. I nodded and shot to my feet, running away to the palace without even pausing to speak a single word of gratitude.

 

“What happened?” my father asked me worried when I entered the bathing chamber and stripped hastily.

I wanted to clean myself of the taint. I shuddered and leapt into the pool, wondering if I would ever be the same again.

“Eldarion?” Father swam across to me. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said tightly. “I am just tired.”

He nodded and continued his ablutions, keeping an eye on me throughout. He was wise and perceptive. I knew he would have seen my taint. I gulped and turned away, presenting him with my back. 

“Among warriors, modesty is not a concern.”

“Why do you want to see me?” I asked him irritably. 

“I was once young,” he chuckled. “And lord Elrond told me that even he was once young. Youth is a time for uncontrollable virility.”

I turned to face him and said, aghast, “But I have sinned, father. It is terrible.”

“What is sinful is pleasurable,” he laughed. “So I have found.” 

“Father, don’t mock me,” I covered my face with my hands in vexation. “I ill-treated someone I admire deeply. He was kind enough to forgive my transgressions. But I am afraid that I can never forgive myself.”

“Nonsense,” my father said crisply. “There are no transgressions where there is love.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” I said brokenly. “He pities me.”

“You should ask him about that,” he patted my shoulder and hied himself out of the pool. “I have work awaiting me. I wish I were young, to indulge in all the follies reserved for the youth. I cannot revert time. But you are young, and you are blessed with better circumstances than I was. So make use of it, Eldarion, and stop worrying.”

Only after he had left the chamber did I realize that he had not reacted at all when I had spoken of a male lover. 

 

“Eldarion!” Faramir greeted me as I loped in for dinner. My mother was yet to arrive from a stay in Dol Amroth. My father usually took a light supper in his work chambers. So it would be only Faramir and I.

“Lord,” I said uncomfortably. 

His wise, brown gaze flicked over me before he nodded and began his repast. I could hardly keep my eyes off his fingers as he deftly handled the cutlery. Those fingers had touched me at the height of my shame.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said gently, lowering his voice to a soft murmur. “You needn’t trouble your thoughts so, prince.”

“Did you hate it?” I asked him, frightened and lost.

“I loved every moment of it,” he said frankly, his gaze setting me aflame all over again. “But as I said, you needn’t worry about that.”

I returned to my dinner, struggling with unvoiced words and fears. He was as compassionate as he always had been, and sought to set me at ease by talking of brawls that had happened in the city recently.

“I shall retire now,” he said quietly when I finally finished the repast,

I watched him leave, my heart thudding madly within me. His fingers were on the door knob and he had crossed the threshold. As the door began to slide shut, I rose to my feet and rushed towards him. He froze and his eyes widened in astonishment as I wrenched the door open and threw myself into his arms, caring nothing for propriety or grace. 

I gathered up whatever courage I had, and met his alarmed brown eyes, and spoke in a soft whisper, “I think I like you more than I should.”

For a moment, we were glazed still into time, staring at each other. My heart howled within me, advising me to flee while I could. 

Then he said, and I shall never forget those words, “That is as well, for I like you much more than is appropriate.”

 

“Look!” I pointed a finger at the skies. “A rainbow!”

“So did you ever find what was at the foot of a rainbow?” my mother asked me indulgently.

We were gathered in the gardens for a merry picnic. I laughed and turned to watch Faramir, who stood with my father, talking earnestly about some state affair. 

“Well?” my mother prompted.

“A pot of living gold, and more,” I said fervently. 

And he was a statue of gold in the bright sunlight, his eyes brown pools that I could always melt myself in, his lips graced by that special smile he reserved solely for me. His gaze flicked to the rainbow once before returning to hold my own, wonderful secrets pledged within those dark eyes. I brought my hand to my thoroughly giddy heart and returned his smile.


End file.
